


If Thou Sorrow

by mozbee



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Mike Wheeler Tries, No S3 Spoilers, Self-Indulgent, Set after season one, Will Byers Is Not Okay, aftermath of the upside-down, but it focuses on their friendship, can be read as Mike/Will preslash, hinted at ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 05:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19761742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozbee/pseuds/mozbee
Summary: 'He that is thy friend indeed,He will help thee in thy need:If thou sorrow, he will weep;If thou wake, he cannot sleep:Thus of every grief in heartHe with thee doth bear a part--'William Shakespeare





	If Thou Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> There are no spoilers for season three in this so read on with no fear :)

Will snorts and tugs at the phone cord, watches it spring from the bottom of the phone. “I guess.”

_“Come on, Byers,”_ Mike cajoles. _“It’s Indiana Jones. You’ve only seen it once so far.”_ His voice pitches low. _“Kali ma, kali ma!”_

Will sighs loudly over Mike. “Okay, stop! I’ll go,” he says, grinning, and Mike stops chanting.

_“Knew you would,”_ he says smugly. Will paces around the hall, stretching the phone cord out. It pulls taut and he sticks a finger through a curl. _“So when does your mom or Johnathan get home? Cause I can ride over to your house and we can go to the theatre from there.”_

“You don’t have to,” Will says quickly, glad he’s alone so no one can see the flush rise in his face. “It’s way out of your way, I can just get a ride,” he trails off, feeling lame. He can’t even ride his bike on his own to meet his friends. It didn’t matter if Joyce would even allow it or not; Will freezes at the mere thought of riding down Mirkwood, the forest close on either side, eerily quiet. The Party usually rides his way and then all of them go off together, or Joyce or Johnathan drive him. Like a kid.

To his credit, Mike doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to convince Will otherwise. _“Okay, well, it starts at 6:45, so do you wanna meet there at six and we can play air hockey or something before?”_

“Okay,” Will nods, and thinks of the last of his birthday money stuffed in his pencil box. He knows he has enough for the movie, at least. He glances at the clock on the wall. 3:35. Johnathan said he would be home at five, Joyce just after him. Not even an hour and a half left. Will is fine. He can do this. “Um, how’s your project?”

Mike groans and Will hears a book thud over the line. _“All I’ve got so far is—”_ Will jumps at the sudden loud crack from behind his house, somewhere in the woods.

_It was just a gunshot_ , he tells himself, fingers clenched tight around the phone. _Don’t be a baby, it was just a gunshot, people hunt in the woods all the time—_

_“Will? You there?”_ Mike’s voice breaks through the haze in Will’s mind.

“Yeah,” Will says, and exhales shakily. “Sorry. You said, you’re, uh…”

_“Up shit creek,”_ Mike says, and Will huffs a breath that could be called a laugh. His heart is taking its time to settle. _“I swear, Adams is a sadist, assigning a project due on a Monday. Everyone knows you’re supposed to hand it in on a Tuesday so you have all weekend to dick around and just cram it all in on Monday night.”_

Will’s response is interrupted by a _bang_ coming from the back of the house, and he gasps, tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth. There is a distant yell, garbled, someone being ripped apart. He’s never told anyone that he heard Barb scream when the Demogorgon got her.

_“Will? What is it? What’s wrong?”_

Will presses himself against the wall, staring wide-eyed at the back of the house. Any minute now, he’s going to hear it: those heavy, steady footsteps, a predator assured of the capture of its prey. “Mike,” he breathes out, lips trembling, “there’s something outside.”

_“It’s probably just an animal, a raccoon or something, you always get deer in your yard, right?”_ Mike speaks quickly, but his voice is calm, trying to soothe over the phone.

“I don’t know,” Will says through numb lips. He thinks of the gun he lost months ago. There are heavy footsteps on the back steps and Will slips down the hall, goes as far as the cord will allow and sinks to the floor. Stay low, stay small. “Mike, there’s something out there,” he hisses, and his hands shake violently. It’s just like before, he’s stuck, waiting, helpless, useless, just waiting to be taken.

_“Will, go hide. Go under your bed and stay there, okay?”_ Will squeezes his eyes shut when the back door rattles in its frame, whimpers at the low growls rolling through the house.

“Mike, I—” there is a harsh yell and Will scrambles to his feet and races to his bedroom, leaving the phone sitting against the wall. He throws himself under his bed and pushes himself against the wall, heart pounding, palms sweating. He covers his mouth and nose when the kicked dust threatens a sneeze.

_Please,_ he thinks, flat under the bed, stomach roiling, head pounding. His vision blurs on the edges and he forces himself to take a deep breath, terrified he’ll black out and wake to his legs being eaten. _Please, please, please please please—_

-

-

-

From Mike’s house to Will’s is a seventeen-minute bike ride. Mike makes it in less than ten. For all his assurances to Will, he still scans the front of the house closely, peers around as he flies down the driveway to the porch. He sees nothing out of place, hears nothing that could be mistaken for the guttural roars of the Demogorgon. The front door is not hanging from its hinges, and there are no terrified screams coming from inside the house.

Mike leaps off his bike and runs the last ten feet to the front door and pushes against it. He curses when it remains shut. Of course it’s locked. None of the Byers leaves any door unlocked or window hanging open anymore. He knocks on the door, loud but slowly, trying to exude calm.

“Will? It’s me,” he calls. He presses his ear to the door but hears nothing. The front curtains are drawn and he knocks again. “Will, can you come to the door? It’s okay, there’s nothing out here.” Nothing. Mike hurries to the swinging bench on the porch and reaches for the spare key hidden behind the top slat. Mike unlocks the front door and shoves it wide, wincing when it bangs open.

He rushes down the hall to Will’s room, the door closed. “Will? It’s Mike. I’m coming in, okay?” He pushes the door open and grunts in surprise when it moves an inch then stops. He leans hard into the door and pushes. There is a heavy scraping but the door jumps open enough for Mike to slip in. When he does, he sees Will’s dresser pulled in front of the door. “Will? Where are you?” He eyes the bed, hoping Will listened to him, went under there. “I’m going to come look under the bed for you, okay? It’s just me.” He crosses to the side of the bed and drops to his knees and reached for the comforter, hanging over the edge of the bed. This close, he can hear shuddery breaths, and his heart clenches. He ducks his head low and lifts the blanket.

He jumps back with a startled gasp when Will suddenly lunges forward from under the bed, looking frenzied. “Mike! Hide!” he hisses, waving Mike desperately forward, wide eyes trying to look behind Mike. His hand reaches out.

“Will, listen to me, all right? There’s nothing outside. I promise.” Will shakes his head and watches him, eyes pleading, hand still outstretched. “Okay, how about I go look out back and make really sure?”

“It’ll see you!” Will whisper-yells. “Please, Mike, just come under here,” he begs. Mike looks over his shoulder, at the dresser half in front of the door, and back at Will. He hopes he’s doing the right thing as he drops to his stomach and drags himself under the bed, Will’s hands on his back, urging him on, patting at him nervously. Mike barely has room to turn his head to look at Will next to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks him. He’s not, Mike can clearly see he is not, but he asks all the same. He’s seen Will scared countless times over the course of their friendship, and Will could say the same about him; but ever since Will came _back_ , its been different things that scare him. Normal, everyday things that before, he wouldn’t even bat an eye at. And Mike wants to help Will, wants to assure him when he’s scared that he doesn’t need to be, but what Will is afraid of is no horror movie or bully. It’s bone deep and complex, and Mike has been struggling since November to help his friend.

Will presses a shaking finger to his own lips, a warning. Mike reaches out slowly and takes Will’s left hand in his right, and holds it tight. Will doesn’t acknowledge the action; he’s occupied with staring at the slit of door they can see from their hiding spot. Mike isn’t sure if he’s breathing.

“Will—” Mike jumps and knocks his head against the underside of the bed at the loud knock at the front door. Will practically melts into the floor beside him, yanking his hand out of Mike’s and curling in on himself, hands pressed against his mouth.

“Will?” Mike recognizes the gruff voice calling from outside, but it takes him a minute to place it. “Hey kid, it’s Hopper.”

Mike gives Will’s shoulder a gentle shake. “It’s the chief. Why don’t we go see him?”

_No_ , Will mouths, looking at Mike quickly, appearing terrified at the prospect. Hopper calls out again.

“Hey kid, you in your room?” Footsteps sound in the hall. Will doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge the chief’s words. When Mike puts a hand on his shoulder, it vibrates from the full-body trembles wracking the thin boy.

“Will, come on. He can help.” There is a knock on Will’s door. Mike thinks if he could, Will would have sunk through the floor to get away.

“I’m coming in, all right?”

The bedroom door is being pushed open, and the dresser is shoved out of place with greater ease than Mike managed to budge it a foot. He sees dusty pants over muddy shoes step into the room.

“Will?”

“Under here,” Mike says, and he feels Will flinch, and sees him press his face into the floorboard, hands near his face. Hopper gets to his knees with a quiet groan, and the blanket lifts. “Hi,” Mike says to the chief. He frowns at Mike and looks to Will, and something in his face softens.

“What are you doing under the bed?”

Will slowly lifts his head to look at Hopper. He blinks at him, and his gaze skates to Mike briefly before going back to the chief. “Th-there’s something outside,” he whispers, and his voice is so small that Mike’s heart twists.

“Oh,” Hopper says, and nods. He glances at Mike, who awkwardly shrugs, his neck beginning to ache. “You stay here. I’ll go check it out, all right?” He drops the blanket and clomps out of the room. Mike reaches for Will’s hand once again.

“See? It’ll be okay. You’re okay.” Will doesn’t acknowledge his words, keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead. His hand is cold in Mike’s. They can hear Hopper moving through the house, hear the back door open and shut, and then it is quiet again. In the space under the bed, it is silent except for muted, panicked breathing. Mike tries to hum something but Will’s fingers clench in his hand so he stops.

The back door opens again and Hopper comes back into the bedroom, kneeling no quicker than he did before in front of the bed and peers under the blanket. “Come on,” he says. “It’s safe. Promise.”

Will visibly hesitates, head twitching to the side to look past the chief. He glances at Mike and then down at their clasped hands and a funny look flits over his face, and he tugs his hand free. Reluctantly he scoots forward on his stomach and Mike follows, biting back a groan as he stretches once he’s stood.

“I’m going to show you something, all right?” Hopper asks Will. He gestures to the open door and takes the lead when Will makes no move. Mike presses a gentle hand on the small of Will’s back and he startles but hurries forward, Mike close behind, keeping his hands to himself.

The chief is standing at the back door and he waves them outside. When they’re standing on the lawn, the day grey around them, Hopper points to something in the side of the house. Mike follows his finger and gapes. “Is that a bullet hole?”

Hopper nods, and he looks pissed. “Yep. We got a couple calls about an hour ago about some drunk idiots hunting out this way. So,” he looks at Will and smiles though it looks more like a grimace, “whatever you heard, it was them.”

“Well that’s good!” Mike says when Will stays silent. He is staring at his house and picking at his fingernails. “So there’s a good explanation for it,” Mike adds. Will blinks at Mike and looks at the chief.

“Oh,” is all he says. Then he brushes past Hopper and goes back inside. Mike and Hopper exchange a look which makes Mike feel weird almost immediately, like he’s going against Will, and he hurries into the house. He just catches sight of Will disappearing into the bathroom, the door closing and locking behind him, and he sighs to himself and sits at the kitchen table.

Hopper trudges in after him (“bathroom”, Mike says to his questioning look _)_ and pulls out the chair at the far end of the table and taps a cigarette out of his pack. Smoke curls in the air and the chief pulls his hat off, dropping it next to the ashtray on the table. “How’s he doing?” he asks without preamble.

Mike shrugs, guarded. He doesn’t want to betray Will’s trust, doesn’t want to tell some adult the gory ins and outs of what he knows, but… “I don’t know,” Mike answers honestly. “I mean, sometimes he’s almost back to normal, and then sometimes he’s—” Mike waves a hand around vaguely, unable or unwilling to articulate.

“Sometimes he’s today,” Hopper fills in. Mike nods and Hopper sighs.

Mike glances down the hall, to the closed bathroom door. “Do you think,” he begins then stops and drops his head to look at his hands splayed on the scrubbed wood table.

“Think what?” Hopper prompts.

Mike drops his voice low. “Do you think he’ll get better? Like, the way he used to be.” The chief’s eyes skirt down the hall as well, and when he speaks it’s as quiet as Mike.

“He’ll get better,” Hopper says, tapping his cigarette on the ashtray. “But to go back to how he used to be?” He shrugs, the gesture casual but the meaning complicated. “I can’t say, kid.” They both straighten in their seats when the bathroom door is pulled open and Will walks out. He doesn’t look at them as he goes to sit in the living room, perching on the couch with his back ramrod straight. Hopper’s radio suddenly squawks on his shoulder and Mike jumps.

_“Come in, Hop,”_ crackles a woman’s voice.

“Go ahead, Flo,” Hopper stubs his cigarette out and stands.

_“Callahan’s got your drunk hunters over near Duke’s.”_

“All right, I’m on my way.” Hopper settles his radio back on his shoulder and gives Mike an indecipherable look, then nods his head at Will. Mike scrambles to his feet and goes into the living room, the chief behind him. “All right, I’m going to bust some heads. You, uh,” he clears his throat awkwardly when Will makes no sign of acknowledgement, “you two be all right?”

Mike nods. “Sure, we’ll be fine, right Will?” Finally, some movement: Will lifts one shoulder and drops it again, barely a shrug.

“Tell your mother I’ll call her after about getting that hole fixed up,” Hopper says, twisting his hat in his hands. He lingers for a moment, a small frown on his face, then suddenly crosses to stand in front of the couch. He kneels down, eye level with Will. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, kid.” He taps his own temple. “I can hear what you’re thinking. Cut it out, all right?” Hopper tentatively reaches out and grips Will’s shoulder with a big hand. “You’re good,” he says gruffly, then stands quickly.

Mike looks down at Will after the front door has shut and swallows at the look on his friend’s face, takes in the scrubbed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. “Do you want to do something?” Mike asks, feeling awkward and hating that he feels awkward. This is Will, his best friend since kindergarten. Nothing is ever awkward between them, but Mike feels like he has for months now: useless. He doesn’t know how to help. Because he can’t help but think of Eleven whenever he sees Will caught in the past, think of how she would know how to help, because yeah, she was ignorant about social cues but the important stuff, she knew how to help.

Mike has been floundering for seven months, and it’s starting to get hard to keep his head above water.

“Maybe we shouldn’t watch a movie since we’re seeing Indiana Jones later,” Mike muses as he drops to sit next to Will. “Or maybe that’s why we should, get us in the mood for—”

“Stop,” Will interrupts. He’s so quiet Mike doesn’t think he heard him right. He looks at Will.

“What?”

“Just stop,” Will says again. “Stop…pretending.”

Mike is confused. “Pretending what?”

“Like you want to be my friend.” 

Mike stares. “What do you mean? You’re my best friend, you know that.”

“I was,” Will says, still not looking at Mike.

“You still are,” Mike says, an unsettled feeling in his gut.

“Not anymore.”

“Will,” Mike says, and he’s getting desperate, feeling more than ever that he’s out of his league, trying to grab a loose line trailing away from him, “what are you talking about? I don’t—”

“Exactly,” Will nods. “You _don’t_. No one does.”

“Does what?”

“No one—” Will’s breath hitches— “no one even knows what happened. But everyone thinks they do. And no one treats me like they used to. ‘Don’t let Will ride his bike alone. Don’t let Will stay alone in the house. Don’t ask Will about what happened cause’—” he cuts off and Mike watches his hands clench.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mike asks hesitantly. There hasn’t been a lot of time where he’s actually talked to Will about the week he was in the upside-down; at first it was because Mike couldn’t stand to think of Eleven disappearing, not without feeling like his heart was being squeezed in a vise mercilessly, and then it became because Will couldn’t talk about it. Mike had seen the way Will hunched in on himself when the group was talking about Eleven and straying too close to his time in the other dimension, he had spent months swallowing disappointment when Will stopped coming to sleepovers, always getting picked up by Johnathan or Joyce a couple hours after dinner.

But the one night he had slept over at Will’s house, he thought he could understand maybe just a fraction of his friend’s fear. Joyce had suggested Mike spend the night, what with the foot of snow being dumped on the town in late February, “ _and the roads around here get plowed absolute last, there’s no sense anyone trying to drive.”_ Will had looked less than enthused but he smiled at Mike all the same, so they had spread out Will’s sleeping bag on the floor next to his bed and Mike brushed his teeth with his fingers and laid down to sleep at ten to midnight.

He stared at the bottom half of the _Jaws_ poster lit up faintly from the nightlight plugged in the wall underneath it (and Will had resolutely not met Mike’s eyes when he turned it on before turning out the overhead light, climbing into bed quickly, and Mike wished he knew how to say it was okay without making Will feel bad), and his gaze wandered over the walls, posters and drawings hung where they always were. He could just see the outline of Will’s picture of Will the Wise, a darker form on white paper hanging from the top of the cork board near Will’s desk.

“Will?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna play D and D next weekend? I’m starting a new campaign I think you’ll really like.”

“That sounds cool,” Will’s voice floated down from his bed.

“You can all sleep over if you want,” Mike added hopefully. “And my mom can make chocolate chip pancakes the next morning.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Mike kept his disappointment contained; he knew that was Will’s way of saying no. He just wanted to help Will get back to normal, and Will had always had fun at sleepovers before. Mike knew that a lot had changed, knew that Will was jumpier than he used to be, but he just had to get back into his old routines and he would be fine. Right?

“I mean, we’re having a sleepover tonight and it’s fun, right?”

“Mike,” Will said in a low voice, and Mike heard shifting on the mattress. “Can we just go to sleep, please? I’m tired.”

“Okay,” Mike said, even though he knew he couldn’t hold himself back. “But why? Why don’t you like sleeping over at my house anymore?”

Will sighed above him. “It’s not that I don’t like it, I just…”

Mike kicked the sleeping bag off his legs and sat up, looking at the back of Will’s head, his profile from shoulder to hip. “Just what?” he prompted.

“I can’t,” Will muttered so low Mike wasn’t sure he’d heard him.

“You can’t? Like, you’re not allowed?”

“No, I just, I _can’t_ ,” Will said through gritted teeth. “Go to sleep, Mike.”

Mike warred with himself over his next words. “Is it ‘cause you’re scared? It’s okay if it is,” he added quietly. Will sat up so suddenly Mike jumped.

“ _Yes_ , I’m scared, okay?” Will hissed. He’d spun around to face Mike, almost glaring down at his friend on the floor. “I’m scared to sleep anywhere that isn’t my house, and even if I did, no one’s gonna be okay with a nightlight being on all night.”

“We would be,” Mike pointed out. “Me and Lucas and Dustin wouldn’t care, and who else do you have sleepovers with anyway? No one.”

“ _I_ care,” Will snapped. Mike could see something flash over Will’s face, twist his mouth, then he abruptly laid back down, yanking his blanket up to his ears and keeping his back firmly to Mike. “Goodnight,” he bit out.

Mike mentally berated himself, feeling about two inches tall. He hadn’t meant to push as much as he did, but he didn’t get it. And no one wanted to talk about it, not with Will or without. Lucas and Dustin looked sorrowful but unsure, as if talking about it was betraying Will. Mike’s parents and sister didn’t know Will well enough to even begin to understand, and Johnathan and Joyce were too intensely on anyone’s case if so much as a whisper of something upsetting Will was heard. Mike didn’t want to give Will’s family more to worry about, though he knew they saw it too, among other things.

Talking to Will these days was hard, and Mike didn’t like it. He had never before felt so unsure about a conversation, or been so mindful of someone else’s silent cues. Mike knew when to zip his lip just from a certain look on Will’s face, knew when he needed to bring up Scott Hughes tripping over his gym shorts in the locker room when Will’s mouth was set in a quivering line.

In some ways, Mike both knew Will better than ever before and felt a complete stranger to him. It had been like this for three months, and Mike was tired of the constant headache. He had to help Will move on, get him back to being _Will_. Mike didn’t give up easily. He wouldn’t give up on Will.

His resolve only strengthened when, long after he had fitfully drifted to sleep, he was awoken by quiet cries, whimpers in the night, so muted that he could have easily fallen back asleep with them as a morose lullaby. But he didn’t go back to sleep; he sat up and got to his knees tentatively, eye level with Will’s prone form.

Will was flat on his back, still except for the fingers of his left hand that twitched on top of the blanket, over his chest. His face contorted in a frown and his lips parted, but he made no sound, instead huffing out a breath and sucking one in just as quick. Mike reached out without thinking, and took hold of Will’s trembling fingers, squeezing them together.

“You’re okay,” Mike whispered, and he wished with all his heart for it to be true, if not now, then one day. “You’re okay, Will.” The frown had melted off of his friend’s face, and Mike breathed easier. He nodded off and woke shortly after, knees aching, neck sore from how his head had been angled on the edge of the bed. He slowly let go of Will’s hand, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, his face peaceful in sleep, and smiled blearily at his friend in the pre-dawn light, and dropped back into his bed.

Now, Mike says, “I think you need to talk about it,” and Will tenses.

“Why?” he asks, voice cold. “It’s not like it’s going to help.”

“It might,” Mike argues, because he knows about psychiatrists and therapists, knows about people paying lots of money just to have someone listen to their problems.

“Is talking about it going to make it unhappen?” Will spits, and he has his fists clenched in front of his chest. “’Cause that’s the only thing that could help.”

“No,” Mike says, and he looks away from his friend, at a cigarette burn on the rug. “I wish it could. I wish…I wish I could help you.”

“Then leave me alone.”

Mike’s neck cracks, he turns that fast to gape at Will. “What?”

“You want everything to go back to _normal_ , you want _me_ to go back to normal,” Will says, and he stands suddenly, like he can’t stand to be near Mike. “Well sorry, but that’s never going to happen.”

“Will,” Mike says, feeling gutted, “that’s not—”

“You’ve been waiting since the second I came h-home for me to get over it,” Will says. He is standing in front of the wall where Joyce had her Christmas light alphabet. “All you do is push me to go to sleepovers and the arcade and sit in your basement.” He turns to face Mike. “Did you even realize I don’t like D and D anymore? Or did you just assume I did cause it’s easier? Do you know that I see things that aren’t there, hear things that aren’t real?”

Mike knows it’s a stupid thing to focus on but—“Since when don’t you like D and D?”

“Since I spent a week trying not to die!” Will yells, whirling on Mike, chest heaving, eyes wild and full of more fire than Mike had seen since Before. “You don’t get it! No one does! I spent a week trying not to cough because it would hear me. I spent a week not sleeping because it would find me. I spent a week listening to it kill in the woods around me,” he was right in Mike’s face now, leaning over him on the couch, looking intimidating in a way he never had before, “and I spent a week thinking that every time I turned around I was going to get my head ripped off. I was so scared,” Will’s voice breaks and Mike’s heart follows suit, “and I still am.” He drops suddenly, in front of the couch, landing hard on his knees, pressing his face into the couch cushion. He wraps his arms around himself and is still, shaky breaths filling the room.

Mike slowly slides off the couch, heart racing. He licks dry lips and reaches out, gently placing his hand on Will’s shuddering shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m still scared, too.”

“Of what?” Will sniffles, keeping his face hidden.

“You disappearing again,” Mike says. He is hesitant to share this, but he feels like he owes Will. “I have a hard time sleeping at night, because I have dreams that you’re still gone, or…never came back. Sometimes I wake up and go ‘that was a shitty dream’ and then I go downstairs for breakfast and my mom is asking me what I’m wearing to your funeral—” Mike distantly registers his vision blurring, as memories of the body being pulled from the quarry filling his head, making it hard to focus on the present—“and then I wake up, for real.” He squeezes Will’s shoulder and they look at each other, each masking the other’s expression of misery. “The week you were gone was the most terrified I’ve ever been. And I was just sitting here, not even doing anything while you tried to survive.”

Will sits up, scrubs a hand across his face, and considers Mike. “I’m tired of being scared of everything.”

Mike nods. “I know.”

“So what do I do about it?”

“Tell me when you’re scared,” Mike says, “because I probably am too. We can be scared together. And then we can be okay together. We always used to do everything together.”

“I’m sorry,” Will says, looking away again. “I know I’m hard to be around—”

Mike moves in and pulls Will against him, hugging him tightly. “No you aren’t,” he says fiercely, needing Will to _feel_ how much he meant it. “No matter what happened, you’re still Will Byers, my best friend in the world.”

Will is tense for the first few seconds before he turns into him, lifting his arms to slide them around Mike and hug him back. “I don’t feel like I can be anyone’s friend anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I don’t know either, not for sure,” Mike admits. “But why can’t we figure it out together?” They sit for a minute more, and Mike can feel every bony rib on Will, shoulder blades that stick out sharply underneath his shirt, and he wonders how many sundaes and banana splits he can afford over the next week. He knows where Nancy hides her piggy bank…

Will abruptly pulls back and settles with his back against the couch. “Thanks,” he mutters to his knees, sounding embarrassed. Mike turns so he’s sat next to Will and nudges his arm.

“You know I meant what I said, right? You’ll always be my best friend. I don’t care if you never sleep over again—” at Will’s quirked eyebrow he elaborates—“well, I want you to, but I want you to want to, and to know that it’s okay if we leave a light on, or if you can’t sleep and just want to talk all night or watch movies, or even have your mom pick you up in the middle of the night.” He considers his grungy shoes and addresses his next words to them. “I can’t live my life without you in it. I did for a week, and I swore I never would again.”

There is a clammy hand carefully seeking his own out, and Mike grips Will’s fingers. They sit in silence, and Mike closes his eyes, the feel of someone else’s pulse against his palm grounding.

“Didn’t you fly?”

Mike opens his eyes and looks at Will, confused. “What do you mean?”

Will frowns slightly as he casts back. “Dustin said that you flew up out of the quarry.” He shrugs a little at Mike’s look. “You said you didn’t do anything while I was…gone. Flying is something.”

Mike snorts. “I guess it is.”

The two of them are still sitting on the floor in front of the couch when Johnathan gets home, a plastic bag looped around his wrist. He stares at them on the floor for a moment, starting to frown, and Mike can feel Will tense, no doubt preparing for the onslaught of questions and concern—

Johnathan holds up the bag. “I got Indiana Jones,” he says, “and mom is bringing home pizza.” He looks confused when Mike and Will snort at the movie, then laugh at their snorting, then it sort of devolves until Johnathan leaves them to it, shaking his head to himself as he heads to his room.

“So I guess we’re watching Indiana Jones either way,” Will offers, and his voice is unsure, but hopeful. Mike grins.

“Who doesn’t want to watch Nazis get their faces melted?” He stands up and offers a hand to Will, tugging him to his feet.

“Hey, Mike,” Will says, picking at his fingernails as he looks up at Mike. “Do you…do you think you want to sleep over?” Mike grins at him.

“ _Duh_. I’m gonna eat so much pizza I won’t be able to ride my bike home.”

When Joyce pulls in barely ten minutes after Johnathan, arms loaded with pizza, and Hopper follows after her, _“he can smell pepperoni from a mile away_ ,” Joyce says, trying to look exasperated but the fondness impossible to hide, and Mike settles next to Will on the floor in front of the tv, greasy pizza slices on their plates and root beer in their glasses, he knows they’re far from normal. Their friendship is changing, evolving, ugly, dark things hiding underneath the surface, but, Mike thinks as his knee knocks against Will’s for the third time since the movie started, maybe it’s not a bad thing. Not when they have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I just watched seasons one and two about a month ago.  
> 2\. I have only watched the first five episodes of s3 so DO NOT comment any spoilers or I swear on Trudeau's perfect hair I will *indiscriminate threat*  
> 3\. This is my first ST fic and if anyone has any prompts to help me get more experience with writing these peeps let me know.  
> 4\. Anyone who followed me after my Shazam! fics and may be wondering what the hell is going on with them, the movie comes out next week on DVD and I will immediately be watching it to get back into the fandom, cause I got sucked hardcore into ST (and BoM but that's neither here nor there) but I am super stoked to rekindle my love for it so I can finish my in progress fic :))))  
> 5\. Thanks for reading, tell me what you did or didn't like about it pleasing and thanking you.


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